Latenight Monopoly Teachings
by theckel
Summary: “It’s BECAUSE we have to discuss what we’re going to do at the next Monopoly lesson,” she said, excited. “It’s the first Monopoly lesson,” he pointed out dryly.
1. No Point Crying Over Spilt Ink

_This is the first chapter of Late-night Monopoly Teachings - which is a direct continuation of Late-night Monopoly Meetings. I highly reccommend you read that, first, since it would help you understand this story._

**o1. No Point Crying Over Spilt Ink**

Dedicated to all my readers, who were awesome encouragement to continue this story. :D

* * *

Being left standing with a Monopoly box under one's right arm, and a note in one's left hand reading;

_'go back to the dorm.'_

may not make one a very happy person.

Draco Malfoy was, at this moment, not a very happy person.

In fact, he was so unhappy, that he was scowling.

And he still was (scowling and being a not very happy person) as he questioned Hermione Granger as to;

"_Why_ you felt the need to leave me a _note_ when you could have just bloody _told me_. We practically stay in the same _room_, Granger!"

The corners of her mouth threatened to creep into a smile, but she just managed to hold it down. "Oh, I don't know, to annoy you?" she asked sweetly, dipping her quill into the pot of ink she had set down on their commonroom's table, and proceeding to write slowly and calmly, knowing it would just frustrate him more. "After all, Merlin knows you do an awful lot of things to get on _my _nerves, too.

Gritting his teeth, he already_ knew_ that she was just trying to get on his nerves. Granger was somuch more cunning than she let on – which would have been attractive, save for the fact that she _infuriated _him to no end. "Youare _impossible _to get along with," he snapped, setting the box down on the table, purposely shaking it and making her writing run askew, before turning to go into his own room.

"Like _you're_ one to talk," she snorted, taking out her wand and muttering a quick spell to undo the damage.

"Ouch. That one's going to leave a scar," he shot back dryly, stopping and turning around, "Maybe putting a bit of thought into your replies would make them seem a little smarter."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, but I can't. Your aura of stupidity – it's too overbearing," she sneered. Hermione sighed. She should've known he wouldn't take it well – he was too proud and arrogant a fool to enjoy himself. Shaking her head, she bent over her work and continued writing, trying her best not to stand up and encourage what was sure to be a shouting match.

Draco glared at the back of her head, fuming. She had the absolute nerve to... he didn't even know _what _she was doing. He hadn't done _anything_ – and yet she wanted to – Draco gave up. He didn't get girls. "Wait, remind me again – who is it who _always_ insists on playing out in a hallway when we share the _same_ commonroom?" he said, walking back to the front of the table and sweeping his arm over it, toppling her ink, which seeped over her paper like a living creature eating her essay combined with her blood, sweat and tears. He smirked.

_That_ – that was just too much. She knew that, true, it had been her who was wrong first, but did he really have to make a fight out of everything? "Oh, real mature," she snorted, glaring at the emptied bottle that had gone on to roll around the table. She would've _sworn_ it was leering at her.

"You haven't answered the question, Granger," he told her dryly.

Suddenly, Hermione was tired of his stupid pride. She shouldn't have bothered trying to have some fun in the first place. There were more ways than one to reply to him, but she decided to take the easy way out. Even if it meant that there would be a lot of pride-swallowing. Okay, it wasn't the easy way out – but it would (hopefully) be the fastest. "Fine, I'm sorry," she said, looking up for the first time, "I shouldn't have made you go _all_ the way there _only_ to make you come back here. After all – it _is_ such a _long_ journey."

"_Still_ haven't answered it," he said, quirking an eyebrow, but secretly pleased that she'd apologised.

"Don't push it," she warned, raising her eyebrows back at him with a small smile on her face.

She looked back down at her paper. "Well, that was a stupid fight," Draco declared, stretching his arms above his head while she cleaned up the mess she had made, "even for your standards."

"_My_ standards? They're your standards, too."

"Point taken. It takes two to tango," he relented.

"I never expected Draco Malfoy to speak Muggle phrases with an air of wisdom about him," mused Hermione, slightly surprised at how fast he'd gone from someone who was set on reducing her to tears (not an easy feat), to a teasing and – would she say it? – endearing boy. He did it quite a lot, but she had still to get used to it.

"I thought I had a... how did you put it? Aura of _stupidity_? How, then, could I be _wise_?"

"Whatever," she muttered, not knowing how to get back at that one, "that's just when I don't like you." She was aware of the fact that he'd blatantly avoided the question, but didn't pursue it.

"So you like me _now_?" teased Draco, moving onto the single seat at the end of the table.

Hermione pretended to ignore his question, but scoffed at the idea, and turned to face him. "Don't you want to know _why_ we're not playing tonight?"

"Because you're finally bored of a long and dreary game that basically repeats itself over and over?"

"Monopoly isn't a long and dreary game!" she exclaimed, horrified, "You're such a prat. It's be_cause_ we have to discuss what we're going to do at the next Monopoly lesson."

"It's the _first_ Monopoly lesson," he pointed out.

"Just bloody concentrate, will you?" she huffed, "Anyway, as I was saying, we'll need to capture their attention. _Lure _them into the game. Like the way you were. We'll –,"

"Look, Granger, I hate to burst your bubble, but I asked you to teach me just to get on your nerves."

"But you liked it in the end, right?" she asked, unfazed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I liked it in the end."

"Then there we go!" Hermione forced out excitedly.

"That makes very little sense," he said sceptically.

"I know," she snapped, "You don't have to be so blunt about it.

"It's what I do, Granger. It's what I do."

"How do we do this?" sighed Hermione.

"Well..." Draco started, thinking. It was funny – now that she was down, he wanted it to work. When she'd been 'up', he hadn't cared. "We could... encourage competition. Award points. Or something. Then they'll like it in the end. Like... you said."

"That's brilliant, Malfoy!" she cried, sitting up straight suddenly and shocking him, then she suddenly deflated. "How are we supposed to award points?"

"We're head prefects. Merlin, Granger – you're supposed to be smart!"

"We can _dock_ points, stupid. We can't award them – can we?"

"So maybe you _are_ smart."

"I know," she said unconsciously, then covered her mouth in shock, "I can't believe I just said that."

"You're learning from me – I like it," he smirked.

"You're a horrible influence," she grumbled, before stifling a yawn. Though she wouldn't admit it, she was happy that he hadn't just shot her down and refused to cooperate. So maybe he _was_ nice. Just a little.

"But an influence nonetheless," he said, trying not to laugh – she looked sodding ridiculous half-yawning half-talking.

The night ended with little progress.

* * *

**an; **So! Now you have the first chapter of Late-night Monopoly Teachings (for lack of a better name). I know it's rather short, but I just wanted something to start off this part of the story. I promise the next chapter will hold a little more.. 'substance'. Oh yeah, and some people told me about the fact that head prefects are seventh-years, so ignore that little error in LMM - this story, they're a year older. XD I'll go back and edit that.. sometime.

_Anonymous Replies;  
(If you want a more 'private' reply, make sure you leave your email or pen name so I can contact you!)_

**nemo - **Thank you so much! Your review is so nice. xD Honestly, I don't think _I _would be able to take it if I just ended it like that. I mean, they haven't even started denying that they like each other! x3 It was one of my greatest fears that people would find them OOC, so I'd like to think that I tried really hard to keep them in character, and I'm really happy that people think I succeeded. :D There _will _be a lot more romance in this part of the story - there was practically none in the previous one. :/ Once again, thanks for the wonderful review! :D

**kk - **Thanks for the review! But that's the reason why this fic exists, because it isn't over yet. :3 I know, and I'm considering changing the genre into 'friendship' instead, but I'm still not sure about it. If more people are unhappy with it, I will. c: And I'm glad you liked it!


	2. If Your Socks Are Filled

**o2. If Your Socks Are Filled And It's Not Christmas, That Can't Be Good**

* * *

The next morning was hell as Hermione scrambled out of bed at 5 in the morning. She couldn't remember what they'd managed to complete last night – let alone when she'd gone to bed. From what it felt like it, pretty darn late. However, her body had something of an automatic alarm clock that woke her up – no matter what – if there was something she _knew _she had to finish.

Of course, the first thing that came to mind was planning for the Monopoly lesson. After all, she _was _Hermione Granger, and she _did _need to keep up her reputation as a good student. And so, that brings us to the reason as to why she had been woken up at 5 in the morning.

And why she didn't remember anything.

_No_. It _couldn't_ have been that they hadn't done anything, could it? Only one way to find out.

"Malfoy?" she asked softly, knocking on his door. When there was no reply, she rapped harder. "Malfoy!" she hissed. Still no reply. Frustrated, she took a deep breath and prepared to shout as loud as she dared (the walls weren't as thick as they looked). "_MAL_ –" Hermione stopped in shock when she found herself face-to-face with a very tired-looking Malfoy in a pair of yellow pyjamas that seemed oddly familiar. She blushed slightly and quickly took a step away from him. "– foy," she finished lamely.

"What do you want, Granger?" Draco drawled, rubbing his eyes, "I heard you the first two times, you know."

"Then why didn't you come out?"

"Because we _all_ take a total of five sodding seconds to get out of bed, don't we?"

She ignored that. "What did we do last night?"

A smirk spread across his face. "Well, if you must know – you refused to get into bed with me, and after that –"

"_Please_!" she frowned, "You know what I'm talking about."

The smirk disappeared, replaced once again by his weary expression. Hermione had to stop herself from touching his messy hair. After all, of _course_ he didn't sleep with gel on (though she _had_ assumed that – he _did_ turn up at three in the morning with his hair perfectly in place to bother her). "Nothing," he said, after some thought, "Nothing awfully important, that is."

"_Noooo_," she wailed in anguish, covering her face with her hands.

Draco, on the other hand, didn't really understand the need for this anguish and frankly, he didn't want to have to deal with it at whatever ungodly hour it was right now. "It's not _that_ bad," he said awkwardly, "I mean, you don't have to achieve something brilliant every single hour of every single day."

"You don't get it," she said warily.

"Well, obviously."

"Today! The Monopoly lesson's _today_!" she stressed this point by throwing her arms up into the air, and hitting Malfoy on the nose in the process. "Oops?"

"You'll do fine on your own," Draco snapped, rubbing his nose, "Let me go to sleep." He attempted to close the door, but Granger – like the infuriating girl she was – stuck her foot in before he could close it completely. Pulling harder only succeeded in drawing a small yelp from her, so he sighed and opened it up again. She straightened up and took out her foot, and he smirked at her – then shoved her hard enough to make her lose her footing and fall backwards onto her bottom. He gave her one last smug look, and quickly shut the door.

She stared.

"_DRACO MALFOY! Get out here this bloody INSTANT!_" she screeched, not caring about how loud she was now.

Behind the door, Draco cringed at the sound of her voice. He wondered if it was safe enough to reply. When he heard her door open and close, he considered opening his own. Hearing her footsteps return and quick chattering start up worried him. "Granger – _what _are you doing?" he asked, trying to mask the slight tinge of fear he was feeling. If anything, he knew that she was an excellent witch – despite her pitiful background.

"I'm…" she muttered something inaudible to him, "setting… ward that'll… hurt… step out of your room…"

She stopped and grinned at him. What he'd heard was enough to set his mind racing, and he figured that maybe planning a lesson was better than being unable to leave his room. Outside, Draco stared in confusion at the lack of magic anywhere in site. "_Or_," Hermione continued, "I could just be sitting out here muttering random words."

"Why y – you –" he made a lunge for the door to his room, but not before Hermione had anticipated his actions. Her arm blocked his way with surprising strength. He knew he could have probably pushed his way past her eventually, but something stopped him from doing so. He regretted this.

A triumph smirk was plastered on her face. "You have to help me with this, Malfoy, whether you like it or not," she said.

"I _don't_," he hissed.

"Oh, stop being such a prat," Hermione snapped suddenly, "I'm tired too, but you know we've got to do this. Stop making it so difficult."

"_I'd _be fine with not doing it," Draco said, "you're the one with the urgent need to be so bloody _perfect_."

"I'm not trying to be perfect!" she protested.

"As _if_," he snorted, "you study for hours on end, are loved by all the teachers, score ridiculously high marks, are brilliant at almost everything and you just _have _to look good going about it, too." He stopped short, only just realising what he'd said. He felt the need to retain his pride. "There's only _one _problem – you're just… so… so _annoying_."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. She would've felt flattered by his comments if it were not for the way he'd said it. Needless to say, it was very insulting. "You're not so much better yourself," she replied, "_you_ feel like you have to be…" He looked at her expectantly. "Nasty," she muttered. "Fine, whatever. Let's just start."

He just smirked that infuriating smirk.

She felt like slapping him.

**o**

By the time they'd gotten down to actually discussing Monopoly, it was already quite late. They had a heated debate on whether or not they should get the students all to read the rulebook – which Draco vehemently argued against. "They'd resent it," he'd pointed out, scowling, "it would be like a bleeding textbook."

"And textbooks are what we learn from," she'd shot back.

Eventually, they decided they (well, Hermione mainly) would explain it to them, then they would get a chance to just mess around with the game. Professor McGonagall had told them, under the orders of Dumbledore about two or three days ago, that they'd have to get the students to write a short essay about their perception of Muggles. The pair decided that instead of assigning it as homework, they'd get them to do it during class time.

At the end of the lesson, they'd distribute a copy of the rulebook to all of them, "Some of them might read it," Hermione reasoned. When they agreed upon this last detail, she could already hear the sounds of footsteps and students talking in the hallway. Malfoy ran a hand through his hair in a pathetic attempt to neaten it. He'd been trying to do that for the entire time they'd been talking. It was bothering her (the fact that he kept doing it; she didn't mind his hair, it looked quite nice) and she felt like getting out a comb and doing it for him just so he wouldn't have to. She restrained herself from saying or doing anything, however, because she was in a particularly good mood that Malfoy wasn't being a total git about this and actually putting some thought into it.

**o**

Unfortunately, for him more so than her, they were running late for breakfast. He'd always made it a point to take longer than her to get up or get changed – simply so he wouldn't have to walk with her. There wasn't any time to allow for this today, though. Draco begrudgingly changed into a set of day robes and, naturally, did his hair at a professional speed. This was with the aid of some simple magic, which Hermione only remembered later and felt quite silly at having been slightly impressed by him.

Coincidentally, they left at exactly the same time. Draco was obviously quite put-off about this, but Hermione was in a decidedly good mood and determined not to let him ruin it, despite the fact that he kept scowling and snapping about totally irrelevant things ("Your hair is a _mess_"). She told him this. "What's making you so jolly, anyway?" he asked.

"Well, you weren't _that_ horrible while we were planning and stuff… and we got it done, so of course I'm happy."

"Simpleton," she thought she heard him mutter, but didn't call him out on it. They'd reach the Great Hall and as Hermione walked through the door, she marvelled at the size of it. It was here that something struck her.

Were they going to be teaching _all_ the seventh-years? Hermione started to panic. No, they couldn't do that; there weren't any classrooms big enough to hold all the students. Not to mention the fact that Dumbledore had said only she and Malfoy were to be conducting the lessons. _Forty_ students! Her breathing had quickened unconsciously, something that he'd picked up on. "What's got you in such a state?" he asked, sounding more irritated than concerned.

"Look – look how many students there are!" she hissed under hear breath.

"What's your point, Granger?" Then it hit him, too. "I'm sure he's not _that_ barmy," but he didn't sound convinced.

They split up and went to their respective tables. Hermione was muttering things under her breath, eyes darting around wildly. Draco had paled a little and a grim expression was set on his face. The Great Hall was oblivious to the pair's misery, except for Harry, Ron and Ginny, who looked at Hermione curiously. "What's wrong?" Ron asked through a mouthful of pancake.

"Nothing," she replied, half-heartedly piling food onto her plate.

"Doesn't look or sound like nothing," Ginny said and gave her a small smile.

Hermione sighed and didn't say anything. To her relief, her three friends decided not to prod.

The entire hall fell silent, as usual, when Dumbledore stood up to speak. "I trust you remember my announcement a week ago concerning your new subject," hushed chattering immediately started, "As you know, your first class will be held today. This evening, to be precise. It shouldn't be too difficult to adjust your timetable, I hope. All seventh-years should report to the classroom right after dinner." Her heart fell, and she looked up at Dumbledore in despair as he continued to talk. "To make it easier for our heads to conduct what I presume will be a rather difficult task; I remind you that they have the power to dock points, should you misbehave. Additionally, they may dock points from Prefects during this lesson."

There was sudden murmuring which could only be described as 'scared'. No one wanted to be blamed for losing points for their house. Hermione somehow managed to catch Draco's eye all the way across the hall, and grinned in relief. To her surprise, he shot her a wary smile. It was faint, but a smile nonetheless – not a smug or mocking one, either. She beamed harder, and he gave her a nonplussed look that clearly said _what-is-wrong-with-you-Granger-are-you-barmy? _ before turning away. She glared at the back of his head.

**o**

The lessons had flown by without her realising, and soon Hermione was standing outside the door of the classroom with ten or so Monopoly sets in her arms. She attempted to squash the butterflies that insisted on flying around her stomach and making her sick. At the same time, though, she felt oddly excited, like a hundred bolts of electricity were running through her every second. She was bouncing up and down nervously, glancing left and right to make sure that everyone was already in class.

Considerably less positive and standing next to her was Draco. He had absolutely no intention of participating in the teaching, something he'd made a point of being clear about during their discussion in the morning. "I still don't see why _I _have to do this, too," he complained. "It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"Just open the door, Malfoy," Hermione pressed, too nervous and excited to get annoyed at him properly. This, in turn, got on _his_ nerves.

He pushed open the door for her and muttered, "I have a bad feeling about this."

The mumbling inside the room grinded to a startling halt as the pair entered the room. Students were spread out randomly among the tables that had been set out, sitting or standing and talking amongst themselves.

Unnerved by the sudden silence and attention given to her, Hermione walked self-consciously to the front of the classroom. She put the boxes down on the table, and frowned when Malfoy strode past her and sank into the chair behind it, shooting her a smirk. "Come on, Granger. This is your _element_," he said. Hermione couldn't tell if he was mocking or encouraging her.

A cough from a student shocked her to her sense. She turned around and grinned nervously at the class. "Good evening everyone," she began importantly, "I'm Hermione Granger, though I suppose you all know that." An uncertain and sceptical murmuring started up, though she had predicted that. After all, she'd thought a lot about how people would react being taught by someone their age, and multiple solutions to this problem. She'd figured that the best was to just act like a normal teacher, and refused to be deterred by their lack of faith in her. It's a good thing she was stubborn and persistent by nature.

"Right," she said, smiling and quieting the class, "I'd like everyone to get into a group of four."

Her tactic seemed to have worked as they eyed her curiously for a moment, then there was a sudden bout of chaos as people struggled to get to their friends. This, however, was mainly among the Gryffindors. Most of the Slytherins had just stared at her in contempt. A few of the ones who didn't mind Hermione had gone around uncertainly, but couldn't convince the rest to follow her instructions. "Oh, come on. It's not _that_ bad," one girl was saying to another. Hermione couldn't see their faces, but she thought that it sounded like Daphne Greengrass.

"She's _Muggle-born_," a boy cut in.

"We shouldn't degrade ourselves to that level," someone else added.

"She's not even a half-blood," the first boy continued, "Professor Dumbledore's barking if he thinks this'll help us."

"Dumbledore, is _not_ mad!" Hermione said indignantly, who had made her way beside them, shocking them into silence. "Now, if you please, form a group of four," she huffed.

"Not likely," scoffed the same boy, who turned out to be Crabbe ("Of course," Hermione muttered to herself).

"Well, I'm in charge here, so you'll have to put up with it," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"_Not_ likely," he repeated.

Hermione was getting frustrated now. "It's just a _group_, that's not too diffi –"

"Why should we listen to a _mudblood_?" he interrupted, sneering at her. There was a muttered agreement. At the word, more than a few heads turned to face the scene, and gasps were heard.

"Because this 'mudblood' has had a rotten day that started at _five-A-M _in the morning, and doesn't want to deal with all your idiocy!" she screeched, while all her plans and debating on how to act flew out the window. "Next time you act up, I'm docking points." Her dreams of a perfect, fun, entertaining and stimulating class had pretty much fallen apart a minute ago. They were shocked into silence, and with one last glare from Hermione, reluctantly did what she said.

She returned to the front of the class and eyed all the students. "Listen here, all of you. This is _not_ how I like to spend my Friday evenings. However, Dumbledore believes that this will help us all in some way or another, and so, I'm inclined to obey. If _any _of you decide that it would be in your best interest to act like a complete _moron_, do so and forever bear the shame of having twenty points deducted for a completely _stupid_ reason. Am I clear?"

No one answered, but Hermione took this as a good sign. "Good," she sighed, somewhat spent from her outburst, "Now one person from each group please come up here and collect a box. _Don't_ open it." There was some hustling and bustling as students attempted to make their way to the front of the classroom all at the same time.

"Blimey, Granger, warn me before you do that," Draco winced, throwing her a look. "What happened to your 'we have to be kind and considerate' plan? And weren't _you_ the one who was just dying to get in here?"

"I was _not_ dying to get in here," Hermione corrected. "Fair enough, I was excited, but these seventh-years have sorely disappointed me. Given the circumstances," she took a deep breath, "I've had to act accordingly."

He gave her something of an approving look. "Didn't think you had it in you, honestly."

She grinned at him, before turning back to the class, "All right, now. These have been enchanted to set up themselves, so I'd like you to open them. Try not to get in the pieces' way; I'll not be responsible for metal bits up your noses."

"And I thought I was the only one you cast the Granger-wrath on," Draco added while gasps of wonder could be heard from all around the class. "I might have to start a club with some of these folks. The less fortunate ones. We could share horror stories."

"Granger-wrath?" she asked, "You've _named_ my anger?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course I have. It's a very special type of anger. Very unique," – Hermione was starting to suspect something right about now – "one of the types based _solely_ on being completely unreasonable and blowing up at every other little thing when you're not in the mood for it."

"Why you –"

"They're wait_ing_," he said in a sing-song voice, glancing over at the students, who were standing around idly after all the activity.

She glowered at him and turned to face the class again. "I expect you all to pay attention, because I'm going to explain the rules of – _Neville! _How did you manage to get your socks full of notes?!"

Neville, who had been lifting up his robes and stomping about in an attempt to stop the notes from getting deeper under his feet, looked up and shot her a grim smile."I – I'm not sure, Hermione, it just happened. They were flying everywhere, and I had to stop them, so I stunned some of them, and they started wedging themselves into my socks," he whimpered, pulling a 500-pound-note out of his right shoe.

Hermione sighed and said, "You probably miscast the spell, or the enchantment just works like that if you try to interrupt it." She walked up to him and bent down to have a better look at it while he shifted uneasily. His long black socks were now stuffed full of wriggling notes, all desperate, it seemed, to get under his foot and perhaps trip him. People around them craned their necks to see what was happening. "Right," she declared finally, "_Petrificus totalus!_" The squirming stopped, but so did Neville, and a few people let out gasps of surprise. "Now, someone please remove them from his socks," Hermione called, trying to seem as though she'd meant for this to happen (though, of course, she hadn't). After slight hesitation and a prompting look from Hermione, Harry and Ron stepped forward and start un-stuffing Neville's socks.

When they were done, Hermione muttered the counter-curse, and Neville gasped in surprise. He grinned at her, but this was soon wiped off his face when the notes that were lying on the floor started to stir. Everyone stared at them warily for a second, before hell broke loose as students fell to the floor while trying to keep their hands clamped around their ankles. The papers had quivered for only a moment, before suddenly floating up and whizzing around at speeds rivalling the Snitch's, aiming for any socks in sight. Even the Slytherins, who had been huddled in a corner, were having trouble keeping the rogue money at bay.

Draco, who had been watching, amused, was now considerably less amused as he spotted at least five notes heading his way. Before he could get out his wand, they'd pushed their way past his robes and into his socks. He sneered in disgust, and pulled his sock so he could see into it. "_Impedimenta_," he muttered, pointing his wand at the fluttering papers. He smirked in satisfaction when they ground to a near-halt, moving much, much slower than before.

"_Repello_ – um, _Monopoly notes_?" Hermione was saying uncertainly, glancing about her with a panicked look. A girl somewhere shrieked, which only added to Hermione's confusion. "_Re – repello – _oh, sod it all, _protego!_"

The door opened, suddenly, but no one noticed amid the ruckus. "_What_ is going on in – _diffindo!_" came Professor McGonagall's voice, as she sliced through an onslaught of notes to her own pair of socks. After quickly assessing the situation, she cast a hasty spell, and all the notes froze in mid-air. At the dissipation of the threat to their safety, the students eventually noticed her presence.

"G – good evening, Professor McGonagall," Hermione stammered, attempting to straighten her robes, her hat askew. Others followed suit, trying to retain some of their dignity that had been lost hopping around with their hands gripped firmly around their ankles.

The Gryffindor Head of House eyed them all with a livid stare and picked a note out of the air, crushing it in her palm and letting it drop to the floor. "Why I _never,_" she muttered, "Waking up half the school, interrupting studies…" There was silence as she walked slowly to the front of the classroom, where Draco was standing stiffly behind the desk. Her eyes scanned the room, chairs and tables pushed aside, some upturned, Monopoly pieces scattered everywhere. The students all watched her, fearful, while various coloured pieces of paper hung in the air, looking for all the world like suspended confetti. Finally, she seemed to be able to trust herself to speak without screaming. "Would someone _care _to explain what has happened here?" she asked coldly. "Well? Miss Granger? Mr Malfoy?"

Hermione swallowed, "I suspect there was a fault in the enchantments, Professor."

"Nonsense," McGonagall snapped, "I cast them myself. Only one of these sets seems to have acted up – it was obviously _tampered_ with," – an unsettled murmuring started up, but immediately died down a moment later when she narrowed her eyes slightly more – "if _anyone_ has any information on the culprit, I want you to inform me at _once_." No one answered her. "Very well then. Punishment shall have to be dealt for misconduct. We cannot possibly hold all of you for detention, you will be glad to hear, and so…" she seemed to think for a moment. "All of you – and I do mean _all_ – will have to clean up this classroom, and restore all of the Monopoly sets back to mint condition," she declared, making her way to the door, "With_out_ magic. Also, when you are done with that, you are to write a twelve-inch essay on your perception of Muggles, since this ties in very closely with your Muggle Studies. _Reparo._" The notes that she had cut, as well as some others that had been burned by a student, fixed themselves and dropped to the floor while she left the class.

"All right," Hermione said glumly, breaking the silence, "I suppose we'd better get started."

There were groans of protest, noticeably from the Slytherins. Over the noise, one voice said, "Granger, we don't even know what's in the sodding game."

She paused for a moment. "Listen here," she said bossily, attracting their attention, "I'm going to list exactly what goes into each set. Quills out." The sound of rummaging and movement filled the air as people struggled to get to their bookbags and original places without stepping on anything. "Ready? First, there're two dice. Sixteen chance cards – those're the red ones – and sixteen community chests – the yellow ones. As for money…" As she listed, people frantically tried to keep up with what she was saying, a few even writing on their hands.

Finally, when everyone'd gotten an at least vague idea of what they had to do, and after Hermione did some yelling at the Slytherins to participate, they got around to actually doing the clearing up. Soon, they found it easier to work in small groups, working as a team to complete the Monopoly sets. Hermione went around, flustered, trying to make sure that people were doing things right. She scolded a Hufflepuff whose name she couldn't recall for trying to see how many houses she could fit in her pocket at one go, but thankfully, she hadn't been driven to docking points just yet. She came very close to doing so, though, when Dean Thomas and Blaise Zabini decided that whoever could build the tallest card house was smarter, cooler, and more brilliant than the other. They ignored her words about messing up the room – _again_ – and how they were _such_ a hindrance to everyone who was actually cleaning. It was only when Ron decided to bellow in Dean's ear about something and made him start, destroying his entire structure. The pair argued until someone else destroyed the Slytherin's card house, much to Hermione's relief.

Draco, however, was strangely absent during this period of time in the class. Hermione had seen him picking up a note with a look of disdain on his face and stuffing it into the hands of some other poor girl, before he disappeared from view.

Busy searching for him, she didn't notice when someone had started calling her name. "Hermione?"

No, not behind the teacher's desk.

"Hermioneeeeee?"

Not over there with Crabbe and Goyle.

"_Hermione!_"

Where _was _he? Plans ran through her head about how she would kill him if he had decided to run away.

"MERLIN'S BEARD, ARE YOU _DEAF_, HERMIONE?!"

"No, I am not, Ron. I'm right here, and you can stop shouting now."

"Had to shout, since you didn't hear me the first _three_ times," he muttered darkly.

She flushed. "I was looking for someone. Now, what's the problem?"

"We're nearly done –" Harry started.

"That's not a problem," she interrupted.

"_But_ we can't find the last green house for this set," he said, throwing a put out look at her.

"Oh," said Hermione blankly. "Well –"

Draco couldn't stand watching her like this anymore.

"Oy, Granger!" came a shout. Hermione turned around, only to see a spot of green fly towards and hit her on the forehead. It bounced off and fell into Harry's hand, who eyed it warily, before tossing it into the box.

"_Malfoy!_" she admonished, "We're not to use magic! Professor McGon –"

"Oh, shut up," Draco said disdainfully, much to the horror of the people around her who had been trying not to incur her wrath. "I didn't use magic to find _or_ make it."

"Then where _did_ you get it?" Hermione asked, confused.

He just smirked and said, "I have my ways."

* * *

**an; **Forgive me? Yay for super-long chapters and chapter names! And kudos to you if you know where the house came from. ;D

A huge big _thank you! _to my reviewers. I'm absolutely flattered. 24 on the first chapter! It took me a while to reply to all of them. x3


	3. It Has To Land In The Middle!

**o3. The Dice Has To Land In The Middle Of The Board**

* * *

"'Muggles are, generally, all quite stupid,'" Draco quoted, adopting a snobbish accent (which was absolutely horrible, Hermione thought, since his normal voice was already very 'holier-than-thou').

"Slytherin, definitely."

"Wrong again, Granger! It's Ravenclaw!"

"_No!_" Hermione spluttered (for Hermione does not squeal), making to grab at the essay Draco was holding. "Give – it – to – me! _Malfoy! _I've _got_ to see it!"

He held the paper away from her, an evil grin on his face. "What _for_? They're anonymous, anyway."

"I might've been able to recognise the handwriting," she said scathingly, going back to reading what was on the parchment in front of her (while Malfoy rolled his eyes at her back, which Hermione was quite sure he hadn't meant for her to see). Her face brightened up considerably when she found a line she was _sure_ he wouldn't be able to place. "Okay, listen to _this _one – 'Muggles are like _potatoes_, therefore Monopoly is like a potato salad_'_," she read aloud. "That makes no sense."

She watched as Draco's face twisted into a concentrated frown. "All right, this is a hard one. It sounds… Hufflepuff?"

_He_ watched as her previously smug face fell into a disappointed frown. It was only for a moment, before she said smoothly, "That was a guess, and so it doesn't count."

"_Granger_, Granger, Granger," Malfoy tutted, and she knew he'd seen her flash of an expression. "It's obvious I'm _much_ better at placing personalities with houses."

"That was a _guess_," she repeated insistently, but he just smirked at her and didn't reply.

As active and awake as they may seem to a stranger, Draco was actually on the verge of falling asleep at the foot of the couch (Granger'd insisted she was to sit on it, and the other chair was covered in papers). The pair had been going through the essays, which were anonymous except for whatever house the students were in, for hours. "As the teachers, you have to know more about the students you're teaching," Dumbledore had said, while Granger nodded knowingly.

He was livid that he'd had to give up his Saturday evening for _this_ – and giving up Saturdays was far worse than Fridays. Draco cursed the class for having been able to clean up and still have time to finish the essays. The next class was still six days away, for Merlin's sake! But once he started arguing, she'd brought up the prospect of "planning our next lesson tomorrow – oh, that's _Sun_day, isn't it?", and he'd promptly shut up.

On the other hand… It _had_ been amusing to see Granger get all worked up about things some people said about Muggles (honestly, though, most of them really _did _smell).

He yawned as he tossed the essay he'd been holding into the unofficial 'Read' pile, wrote 'Muggles = stupid + have too much time + 'insanely able' (?) to make useful things out of useless things', and then picked another at random.

The writing was messy and uneven, and there were blots all over the page – a few of which didn't look like ink. Draco scowled at it, thinking how _he_, of all people, shouldn't be made to sit and attempt to decipher someone _else's_ rubbish handwriting. That was a job for people who actually _liked _reading essays and such things that made others miserable. People like Granger.

'_Being good friends with Harry and He' _– here there was what was supposed to be some frantic cancelling, though the author obviously hadn't done the job properly –_ 'two people who've lived with Muggles before, I think I'm rather smart when it comes to them…'_

Wearing a smirk so big it would have made the Cheshire Cat proud ("A chess hired cat? You're talking bull."), Draco carefully and painstakingly read the words. A quick glance at the top of the page confirmed that the author was, indeed, a Gryffindor.

Finally, Malfoy found a quote of what he considered to be good enough quality, and straightened up, catching Hermione's attention. "'I think that even though everyone says Muggles are humans like us, they're still… _different, _in more ways than one,_'_" he read, slowly and clearly. Draco looked up, still smirking, and was satisfied to see that she seemed adequately furious. "I quite think this bloke is right," he added, just for good measure.

"Why–you–_it's Slytherin, isn't it?!_" Hermione hissed, snarling (snarling?).

He was enjoying this far too much to just let it go like _that_. "Well, _may_-be. Why is it that every time it's a negative comment, you presume it's Slytherin?" he asked, keeping her in suspense.

She misinterpreted this, however, and sank back into the couch. "I knew it," she muttered, "It is, isn't it? Hah! Got one right."

"_I_ certainly wouldn't be so quick as to assume that, would I, Granger?"

"You mean it's _not_?" Her jaw dropped. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Malfoy, if you don't tell me –"

"Ron Weasley," he offered, before she finished.

For a moment, she looked thrown. Then she looked livid. Then she looked confused. Draco was enjoying all of this _immensely_. "You _tosser_, you're obviously making this up!" she seethed, seeing the expression on his face.

"I swear on Merlin and his great white beard, I am _not_ lying."

"How do you know?" she asked. "Like you said, they're all anonymous…" She trailed off and took the parchment from his hand, which he'd stretched above his shoulder to reach her. Hermione read it silently, then exploded. "The _nerve!_" she said incredulously. "_Honestly_, how close-minded people are – I'm going to have to _do _something about this!" – she rounded on Malfoy – "And _you_ – you agree with this!"

Draco just shrugged arrogantly, and pretended to pick off a piece of lint from his shirt. "Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

"It's not funny," she huffed.

"Yes it is," he pointed out. There was silence, then suddenly – "OW!" Malfoy yelped as Hermione's foot came into solid contact with his head. She ginned in grim satisfaction. "You bloody bint, what's wrong with you?!" he fumed, rubbing the back of his head. She hadn't kicked him, though. She had, in a sense, stepped on him.

Which was all the more degrading.

Turning up her nose at him and settling back into the couch, she said, "You deserved it."

"I don't see why you're so enthusiastic," he grumbled instead, changing the subject. "I mean, you were _mental_ yesterday."

Hermione glared at him.

"In a… good way," Draco added hastily.

She scoffed, but replied, "It's true that yesterday didn't really work out that well –"

"_Understatement_," he muttered under his breath.

"– but I'm sure that with a push in the right direction, it'll turn out all right," she finished, ignoring him.

"A 'push in the right direction'?" he asked sceptically, eyeing her.

Shifting under his gaze, Hermione replied, "Exactly. Most of them must _remember_ the lesson, because of how er, _different_ it was – so we've just got to change that into a more positive energy."

"'A more positive energy'," he repeated in the same tone.

"_Yes_," she said, frustrated, then turned away, clearly thinking it not worth it to try to convince him of her plans.

"Do go on," Malfoy's voice came after a minute, surprising her.

"O–okay," she said, not turning around but sitting up a little straighter. "Well, like I said before, they already 'know' Monopoly, most likely. So we'll just have to change it's image, I suppose."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Er – I guess we'd just have to let them enjoy it. Get a better feel of it."

"A more non-violent approach," Draco confirmed.

Hermione turned around, grinning, "Right! Hey, how'd you –" Hermione stopped suddenly when she saw his serious expression. But it wasn't _that_ that had made her stop – it was the fact that his mouth was twitching, almost as if… Malfoy was trying ve_ry_ hard not to laugh.

Which was, of course, exactly what he was doing.

"You're not taking me seriously at all, are you?!" she accused.

"Yes I _am_," he said indignantly, "How _could_ you even think otherwise? I'm hurt?"

"Well–"

"Okay, I lied. I'm sorry," he spluttered, not really meaning it, and promptly burst into laughter while Hermione attempted to throw a quill at him (which didn't work out, since they're half feather, and it just flopped pathetically and harmlessly onto a pillow).

Ink stains pillows. She quickly reached to turn it over and recover her quill.

"I don't need your help, anyway," Hermione declared, and tried to regain some of her lost dignity by arranging herself in a sophisticated position on the couch.

Draco looked at her oddly. "Granger, what's wrong with your back?"

She slumped sideways with a sigh. "Nothing, Malfoy. Just read the sodding essays," she grumbled, betraying her tiredness.

"You know…" Draco started, "We _could _do this at a more, ah, _significant_ time. Like, for example, a little closer to the lesson date."

"Nice try."

**o**

It was, quite suddenly, the next Monopoly lesson. Draco felt as if he had deserved more of a warning – it had literally snuck up on him in the form of Hermione Granger.

"Malfoy!" Hermione's voice had sounded, making him turn around. She battled her way up to him through the dinner crowd, stopping in front of him. They had barely talked while in their small common room, and had only a few classes with each other – not that _he'd_ cared, of course (though he was fighting the unnatural urge to… _smile_. He wrote it off as a pre-dinner reaction). He raised a questioning eyebrow at her, attempting not to fall onto her as he was jostled from behind. "You _do_ remember our lesson plan, don't you?" she'd asked, a tad bit breathlessly.

It wasn't the reminder of the lesson plan that had made his eyes widen in surprise (and fear), it was more of the reminder that her reminder carried – that the lesson was that evening. "Of course not," he'd said truthfully, choosing not to mention the fact that he had forgotten the entire affair. Draco shifted slightly while she eyed him suspiciously, but when she refused to stop staring, he'd shot her an annoyed look. "Well, what else do you want, Granger?"

"Are you not telling me something?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he'd scoffed, avoiding her gaze. "Now, move. I really want to get to dinner."

Hermione had hesitated a moment longer, before shrugging. "Bye, then," she said.

Dinner had been a sorry affair. Draco was in a bad mood (worse than usual, at least) because of the news that Hermione had brought. He had snapped at Blaise twice for contradicting reasons – first, because Blaise's elbow was bumping into his own, and second, because Blaise had started eating in an odd fashion. Blaise had stood up without a word and moved three places down the table. Draco had considered him rather prudish.

Either way, there was nothing that could be done (within the limits of not being expelled, of course) at this current point.

So Draco and Hermione were, once again, standing in front of The Door To The Classroom.

"Come _on_, Granger. Just look the other way, and I'll be gone, and it won't be your fault!" Draco pleaded. "Tell them the truth – that I just disa–OW! You crazy woman! I was _joking_!" He rubbed the side of his head where Granger had smacked him, glaring at her.

"Please," she snorted, "we both know that you're perfectly capable of running away. Now shut up, you're not helping me get into my teaching mode."

"Your '_teaching mode_'?" he asked incredulously.

"At least I have one apart from '_moron'_."

"Okay, okay. Geez…"

Then they opened the door.

**o**

And the class looked just like it had the previous week, exuding an aura of mild interest, extreme boredom, lack of enthusiasm and general consensus that they had better places to be in. No people reading the rulebook and discussing the ingenious minds of the creators who had set such guides that made the game so special. No people studying the board, prices, properties and locations and relating them to real life. No one was even looking at the cute plastic houses. Nothing. Hermione felt largely disappointed.

She walked briskly to her desk, set down her things (their combined notes on the essays, a few pieces of blank parchment she believed made her look more 'teacherly', and a quill) and cleared her throat. A few people near the front turned to look at her. She cleared her throat again. The same people looked at her, plus a few more. Hermione blushed angrily and was about to do it again, when Malfoy decided to yell,

"_Oi_! You gits! Can't you see your bloody teachers are here?"

which worked considerably better than Hermione's throat-clearing. She took a few last deep breaths to calm her nerves, while Malfoy made his way to the chair and flopped into it, feigning uninterest.

"Okay, well, good evening," she paused uncertainly, "again. Haha… ha."

"Granger," Draco hissed, "_what_ are you doing?"

Hermione tried her best to ignore him, and concentrate instead on the bored and unfriendly faces of her class. What fun. "Anyway, um, based on the data we've collected from your essays, it's clear that you've all got a rather, er, _ignorant_ view on, well, Muggles," she glanced down at the notes they had made, trying to find something to point out.

'Helicopters + flying things = not useful/failures' didn't look like something everyone would understand, while 'mcdonild's(?) = magical fry maker' was just silly, and 'strange houses + bad owl circulation systems' just didn't seem significant enough.

"Mal_foy_," she groaned quietly and quickly flipped through the pile to try and find her own writing, "why are your notes filled with absolute _rubbish_?"

"Well, it's not as if your instructions were so incredibly clear, all right?" he hissed back.

"Yes, but it just makes _so _much sense to write something like 'potato-head + stylish', doesn't it? Just – ugh, I'll talk to you later," she snapped, before addressing the class again. "All right, um, some of you seem to think that Muggles aren't as… clever as us – but that's not the case! I mean, just look at what they've done and, well, they haven't got any magic, either!"

They, instead of looking impressed, wore the well-used expressions of students who have been told something that is supposed to be amazing so many times that they learn to hate it. Hermione's heart fell. Draco picked at a fingernail.

"A–anyway, I think that you ought to work on your image of Muggles, since that would, er, improve your experience while playing. You know, try not to… discriminate."

Their lack of response was starting to eat at her nerves already, and it was only the start of the class.

"So! Why don't we start on familiarising ourselves with the, uh, pieces?"

"We've done that already, Hermione," a girl said, though not unkindly.

"R-right, okay then, let's… go through the rules. I've got a copy of the rule book for everyone for your reference," groans sounded, and so she added hurriedly, "though you don't have to read it now! They're just for you to, um, clarify things if I'm not here. If everyone could just come up here and get a copy for themselves or their friends… hehe, I've been forbidden to use magic. "

While the class sprang reluctantly into action, Hermione turned with a sigh, and stopped warily when she saw Malfoy eyeing her, an apprehensive expression on his face.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What now?" she asked tiredly.

"_This_ is your teaching mode? You seem somewhat… less enthusiastic than you were… before," he replied, with the same scrutinising look.

Hermione bristled. What did _he_ care? "Is there a problem with that?"

"Well, I have to say, not _really_, but the previous lesson–"

"And we all know how that turned out," she said, cutting him off, "you needn't remind me."

Draco scoffed at her, "Fine, if you want to sulk, go ahead. I'll be here when you decide to stop."

Hermione looked at him in confusion, then suddenly understanding dawned on her and, despite her best efforts, a grin broke out across her face. "So you _do_ care!" she said triumphantly.

"Will you be _quiet_ Granger?! What are you being so sodding loud _for_?" he hissed in response, scowling at her.

"I hear no deniaaaaal!" she sang, but softly.

"Okay, here's your denial – I don't care about your stupid lesson–"

"Our."

"_Our_," he added sarcastically, "lesson, but I _do_ care if you're going to be a bloody grouch later because of this."

"Malfoy! How considerate of you to worry about me!" she declared overly-cheerfully, her grin turning into a smirk.

Draco gestured wildly, his scowl deepening, and frantically tried to shush her, "_Shhh_! Merlin! You _know _that's not what I meant!" He glanced around to make sure no one had heard her ("completely bull") statement. Unfortunately, it seemed like one or two people had, and were looking at him with uncomfortable shocked expressions on their faces. "I didn't – I meant – just – just go teach your damn class," he resigned, swivelling his chair around and (ironically) sulking.

"Hmm," Hermione said, pretending to think, "it's actually a little creepy – I mean, this whole you-caring-for-me thing."

"I don't–"

"Now, I'll be lining out the basic rules of how to play. Quills out!"

**o**

"So you mean he can buy it for a hundred pounds if I don't throw away my money?"

"If you don't _bid. _Exactly!"

"But that's not _fair_, Hermione!"

"You'll just have to bid to get the price higher."

"What if I've got no money?"

"Then that's… too bad."

**o**

"HER-MY-OWN-NEEE!"

"I'm here, I'm here! You don't need to shout!"

"_She _says that if I'm on my own square and she's on my square too that _I'll_ have to pay her!"

"Well, that's half-right – but it's actually just that you don't have to–"

"That doesn't make sense!"

"I know, but it's not _really_ like that–"

"I _told_ you so! You'll have to pay me if I ever land on your square while you're there! Haha!"

"_No_, it's actually–"

"I say we read the rule book!"

"C'mon guys – that's completely unnecessary, besides, you can even ask–"

"Where is it, Hermione?! I can't find it!"

"It's right–" she snatched the book from the girl's hands, "–here! If _you're _on _her_ square while she is, _no one_ has to pay _anyone_, all right? Nothing!"

**o**

After a _l o n g _session of explaining the rules of Monopoly and how the game worked, which had been absolutely chaotic, the sets were being distributed.

Hermione sighed and went behind the desk. "Get off, Malfoy."

"Why should I?" he scoffed.

"Do _you_ want to do this?"

"Of course not."

"Then get off."

"Just because–"

"Dum-ble-doreee," she sang quietly.

Draco glared at her, but she didn't seem to care, so he reluctantly stood up and leaned on the desk instead. He watched as Granger sank gratefully into the chair, sighing.

"What, you're tired already?"

"Hey, when people who don't understand get taught by people trying to understand who think they understand but don't actually understand – things get messy," she said in one breath.

"Uh… huh."

"Were you even paying attention to what I was doing just now?"

"Of course I was, Granger!" he replied indignantly. "I even helped set up a deck of chance cards!"

Both their eyes flicked to the class, who were busy starting to set up their games.

"I mean, ah, just now. Very recently just now."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him – the sort that said, '_you really think I believe this?_'.

"Like – that one over there!" he said, wildly pointing at a group who had their cards already set up. They stared at him in shock for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't worth much thought.

"Nevermind, Malfoy," she sighed.

**o**

Surprisingly, the lesson went much smoother than expected (but then again, her expectations had been low – very low), and Hermione rather thought that quite a few people had enjoyed themselves. Apart from a fight that had broken out between a Hufflepuff group and a Slytherin group over – of all things – who could throw a dice the 'best' ("It _has_ to land in the _middle_ of the board and have a _clear _number on it, you stupid snake,"), nothing extremely bad had happened. Of course, there was also that fight over who was the better player, but she figured it was just friendly competition. Involving wands and curses and hexes.

Looking up and getting ready to leave, Hermione was surprised to see Ron still there, without Harry. She heard Malfoy scoff beside her, and turned to tell him to leave. He saved her the trouble and took a few long strides, catching up with his own friends.

"Hermione," Ron started, fidgeting slightly.

"Yeah?"

"CanougowitmetoHogmestomorrow?" he asked in a rush, flushing scarlet.

"Of course," she replied with a smile, after taking a moment to realise what he was saying. "But don't we always go together?"

"No! I mean, yes! But – er – as, y'know, like," he beckoned her closer and his voice dropped to a whisper, "a _date_?"

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked involuntarily and straightened up, shocked. "Well, yes, I'd – I'd like that – very much," she said, blushing, too.

A little further down the corridor, Draco, who had watched this entire exchange with growing contempt while pretending to be walking backwards for fun, peace and laughter, turned to Blaise and asked mockingly, "Can you go with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"Uh… you feeling all right?" Blaise asked, a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied hastily, looking away.

**o**

Back in their small common room, Hermione was about to go straight to her room when Draco stopped her.

"Granger."

"Hm?"

"Merry Christmas."

"What? It's not Christmas, Malfoy," she laughed.

"Yeah, well, it'll come."

"In a few months."

"But it _will _come," he said stubbornly.

"Fine, fine – Merry Christmas to you, too," she resigned. Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Good night."

"'night, Granger," he smirked.

* * *

**an;** I meant to post this on Christmas Day, but I ended up travelling and so here it is, late. T.T A little shorter than the previous chapter, but I hope this'll do for now. :3 Merry post Christmas, and a happy early new year!


	4. Specks, Unrounded And Hollowness

**o4. Specks, Unrounded And Hollowness.**

* * *

It would have been wrong to say that Hermione was a stranger to dates – since she wasn't. After all, was the Yule Ball with Viktor not a date? And, of course, there was Cormac McLaggen, though she preferred not to remember that. Hermione was trying to assure herself of her date-ness to try and keep the hysteria of her upcoming arrangement with Ron from surfacing. Yes. She'd definitely been on plenty of dates before.

Plently. Definitely enough to know how to act and what to wear.

_Plen_. _Ty_.

Plenty!

…

Oh brilliant, and she couldn't even ask Ginny because that would be strange.

'_Hey, Ginny, could you help me out? I've got a date with your brother.'_

No.

**o**

Hermione had managed to avoid Ron along the path to Hogwarts using very 'mature' means ("They _were _- just… _under_ the surface! Honestly!"), such as walking behind him, but keeping him in sight (the basis of her plan), with various other tactics should the circumstances change. For example, the jumping into bushes (or ducking behind people, depending on how close she was to the edge of the path) whenever he turned around, or the sudden development of the want to wear a very, very big hood. She admitted that they weren't the best of plans, but they'd worked.

She waited until Ron got to Madam Puddifoot's, hiding childishly behind a pillar a little way off, (she wasn't so joyful on the place of choice, but hadn't felt like it was her place to complain) and started showing signs of looking for her. Hermione attempted to write off the jumpiness in her stomach as queasiness from looking at the pink vomited all around the inside of the shop.

Watching as he inspected his sleeves nervously for dust, Hermione unconsciously straightened her jumper and tugged at her hair. _He's going to shake his head any moment now…_

Ron violently shook his head, and then ran a hand through his hair a few times to attempt to neaten it.

_There it is_, she thought fondly. Finally, she decided to reveal herself and walked out from The Shadows. Before she got anywhere close to him, Ron spotted her. He waved at her shyly, but happily. "Hermione!" he called, and she smiled and waved back, his carefree grin helping with some of her nervousness.

When she got to him, Hermione considered hugging him, but then realised that she had been thinking too long, and he was now looking between her and the entrance of the shop. "Um, shall we go in, then?" she asked hesitantly.

Ron's ears turned red. "Oh – right. Yeah. Yeah, we should."

Inside, when they had gotten a table not too near the middle which she was satisfied with, Ron ordered two hot chocolates for the both of them. He looked around the place, taking note of the large amount of… flora present. "It's not an awfully good place, is it?" he asked, smiling apologetically.

"Oh, don't be silly – it's just a little… colourful," she replied with a laugh.

"Let's face it," groaned Ron, burying his face in his hands, "I know you hate it. Blimey, it looks even more pink than I imagine."

"It's _fine_, Ron," Hermione said firmly. She was determined to enjoy herself, and was trying to follow some of the advice she always gave other people – specifically ones of the 'be yourself' variety. Though she found that so far it was rather difficult, since she was having a bit of trouble with the fact that it was a _date_.

"So… where do you suppose we should go later?"

"Well, I reckon maybe the normal places. You know, Honeydukes, and all that…?"

"Yeah, I guess. I've been wanting to get another gobstopper."

"Ron! You know those ruin your teeth!"

Ron smiled toothily at her, showing off his (admittedly, nice) teeth. "'ere, oo 'ey ook vey rooned ta you?" he asked, not moving his mouth.

Hermione burst out laughing, "Stop it, people are staring!" despite the fact that Ron had his back to the rest of the tables.

He blushed, but said, "I rather think it's you they're staring at, thinking, 'bloody hell, that Granger's finally lost it'."

"Or 'bloody hell, that Weasley can't wave his wand right, _or_ talk properly – we'd better steer clear of the lad'."

"I can _so _wave my wand right!" protested Ron.

"Which is why all of us end up with slugs in our mouths on a regular basis."

"It was one time – and my wand was–it was faulty!"

Hermione stifled a laugh. "Faulty?" she spluttered.

"It _was_," he replied indignantly.

"Whatever you say, Ron," she said, pretending to roll her eyes though she knew he was right.

"It _was_!" he repeated.

They talked for a few minutes, before their drinks came, and when they did Ron quickly picked his up and gulped a mouthful, embarrassed about something he'd said. It being _hot_ chocolate…

"Ow!" he exclaimed, opening his mouth and breathing in and out to try and cool it down.

"You look like a fish!" Hermione exclaimed loudly, laughing uncontrollably.

"You know, you _could _consider helping your best friend."

"I could," she said with a smirk.

Ron grumbled something about 'never appreciated' and 'ought to be my slaves, the both of them'. She was still giggling.

After the incident, Ron drank at a more normal pace, regardless of state of embarrassment, and they decided to leave once an hour had passed. "Sorry, but I honestly couldn't stand it," she apologised.

The pair made their way to the sweetshop, which was still quite crowded with students, and Ron selected a gobstopper through an elaborate and meticulous process. "You've got to look at the way the specks of colour are spread out," Ron told her, holding one up for Hermione to see. "I've had lots of practice, so I suppose I've got a pretty good eye, but you're still starting out – so maybe you should just stick with me for now."

Hermione nodded seriously and pretended to take notes on her hand.

"After you've narrowed down your choice to a few, you have to compare their smoothness – it can be a little rough, but it shouldn't be unrounded."

"Not unrounded. Right."

"Yeah, and also, you should tap them in a few different places – to see if they're hollow?"

"Ah, yes, the hollowness. Serious problems if they have it, I presume?"

"Very serious. I think this one ought to do it."

He held it up, and they both scrutinised the giant sweet.

"Looks good, even to my untrained eyes," Hermione confirmed.

They stared at it for a moment longer, before turning without a word and going to the counter, where Ron paid. "Good job. I reckon after a few more trips you'll be able to select on all on your own."

They left the shop.

"That… was… hilarious," Hermione choked out, clutching her sides.

"Blimey, the looks on… pfft… their faces!"

"Good thing we got out, I think I was about to lose it!"

"You were brilliant, though, I didn't think you had it in you. 'Untrained eyes'. _Brilliant_!" He wiped a few tears from his eyes.

"You weren't so bad yourself, Mr. Unrounded," she said with a wink, and they burst out into peals of new laughter.

As it just so _happened_ (out of _pure_ coincidence), Draco had been inside the shop, watching them over the racks of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and various Liquorice Wands. When they started their little ("Stupid, ridiculous,") act, he dug a hand into a random section and ate a few of the jellybeans and chewed. Hard.

Then gagged.

"It says, quite clearly, 'vomit', Draco," Blaise Zabini said, "which makes me wonder why you felt the urge to try five of them."

"I can't try the jellybeans I want to?" he snapped, red from choking.

"No one said that."

"Sod off, Blaise."

"Why? So you can continue spying on that Mudblood, Granger?"

Draco gagged again. "Who would want to spy on _that _beaver?" he spluttered in disbelief.

"Maybe a few individuals."

"I wasn't _spying _on her, I was just–" then he realised what he said. "Damn."

"Looking? That's just as bad."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"All of us heard what Weasley said, and what you said. Just be thankful they didn't see you like _this_."

The pale blond was pale. –er.

"Although, they might hear some strange rumours…"

"Fine. What do you want?" he spat.

"Well, there's that Moonuply cl–"

"Monopoly," Draco automatically corrected.

"Yeah, that. I want out."

"And so does half the entire year."

"Yes – but I know _you_, and I know _this_."

"I'll try, but no promises."

"Fine. So, what's so special about this girl?"

"I thought we'd agreed that you sod off?"

"I can't leave you here alone being so pathetic. I mean, honestly, following her on a date? Where _is _Pansy, anyway?"

"I just _happened_ to be here, and she _happened_ to come, all right?"

"Right. And, I think you should know, Pansy's been telling everyone that you're devilishly handsome when you shower?"

"She's _what_?!"

"Telling everyone that you're–"

"It was an expression. She hasn't ever seen me showering!"

"Or has she?"

"She. _Hasn't_. That's just as likely as me having feelings for Granger," he added, for emphasis.

"Well, seeing as you were just spying on her, I don't think it's that unlikely."

"Bloody _hell_!" said Draco, very much annoyed and frustrated. "I wasn't _spying _on her!" he hissed again, as loud as he dared.

"Calm down, mate," Blaise said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "we _both_ know you'd never fall for such an annoying Gryffindor, all right?"

Draco swore under his breath.

The other Slytherin looked in the direction that Draco was facing, and saw the pair laughing together. "What idiots. Looks like they're having fun, though," he added as an afterthought.

"Not like I care," Draco said vehemently.

Blaise clapped his friend on the shoulder again, grinning. "That's the spirit! Up for a butterbeer?"

"You're paying."

The grin fell.

**o**

It was nearing curfew, and Ron and Hermione were just about reaching Hogwarts again. After the Honeydukes stunt, they had both relaxed and enjoyed each others' company. They had bought some food and eaten at the lake, using Ron's jacket as a picnic mat despite her protests, and then attempted to skip stones with buns they'd found out were rock-hard. The words came easily, and the laughter easier. Hermione had thought it would be strange and awkward, but Ron seemed to sense it and tried his best to be funny.

"Well, this is where I get off," she joked at the entrance to the school.

"Bollocks! This is where _I_ get off!" he said, playing along.

Suddenly, she hugged him quickly, then let go, embarrassed. "Thanks, Ron. I had loads of fun."

He blushed furiously, trying to look at her but failing. "S–same here."

"But…"

"Oh no," he said quietly.

"I'm really, really sorry," she said, looking at the ground.

"Who is it, then?" he asked bitterly.

"What? Oh – oh no! I don't fancy anyone, honestly! It's just – you're my best friend, but…"

"That's all," he finished for her.

"Yeah. I'm really sorry, Ron."

"Don't worry," he said, after a moment of silence. "I'm not stupid, you know. I could tell."

"Are you _sure_ you're not an idiot?" she asked, though she was forcing a smile.

This time, Ron stepped forward and hugged her, and she leaned into his tall frame.

"Thanks for giving us an amazing first date, though."

"Yeah. It was for you."

"I'm so sorry, Ron," said Hermione sadly. "But you know, maybe my feelings will change, someday."

"Really?" he asked.

She could tell that he was hardly able to contain his hopefulness.

"Really," she replied.

She could tell she had made a big mistake.

* * *

**an; **WOW, these chapters have gotten really long compared to before (LMM), but this is a shorter one. I tried to make it not too dramatic, but still meaningful, if that makes sense. Please don't hate Ron, or Hermione for agreeing to go on a date with him, I really find he's such a sweet character.

****

Thank you so much to the people who are still reading this, and who just started!

I read the books a VERY long time ago, and it was only 'recently' that I started writing fanfiction for it - mainly because a friend introduced me to it.

At the time, I thought that head prefects shared a dorm, since that was in the majority of the fics. =.= I've known for a while not that they don't, and I'm really annoyed that I did that, since I find it so awfully cliche - and there's no going back now. But, that's besides the point. I have a few questions for you all, I've been relying on the HPL and such, but I haven't been able to find these anywhere. xD

How's the weather in the Harry Potter books? It was always a little chilly, right (otherwise how would they be able to stand wearing robes all the time)?

It doesn't snow all the time, I know that much. I realised I had no idea, so I didn't know if there would be a chill or rain or if it would be hot... you get the drift. Anyway, if anyone could just provide me with a timeline or something... (Jan-Feb: starts getting warm but still quite cold, Mar-Jun: blahblahblah...)

And Hogsmeade - do they just get there by themselves? Walk up a path? I somehow remember a path. With the exceptions of the secret passages of course.

I know this doesn't really tie in with any of the books, and I'm mainly just using whatever details from the original plot I want. It's not the best way, (okay, it's a horrible way) and maybe someday I'll go back and change all the details to fit once I've re-read all the books again.

This is, though, obviously and clearly, not DOH compliant.

Last, but not least, if you read the first part of this story, too, and you liked it, please let me know on a review here or there - I feel like it gets no love. xD;

And really, reviews motivate the tired author's soul. Like chicken soup. But different...

This must be one of my longest ans.

Happy new year!


	5. Flammable, flammable, flammable

**o5. Flammable, flammable, flammable.**

* * *

"So," Blaise started, "what's with you and You-Know-Who?"

It was Monday morning, and breakfast was in full swing. People were not expecting talk of Voldemort – and so, even though they were Slytherins, they froze, and stared at Blaise and Draco.

"You _idiot_," Draco groaned.

"Oh – oh _right_. Uh, yeah guys, sorry, I was talking about someone else. A girl."

Now, people also do not expect talk of Draco Malfoy and his many merry (wo)men on a Monday morning. And so, there was freezing.

"_Mo-ron_," he hissed with a sigh.

"I _mean_, his _mother_. You know – Narcissa Malfoy?"

People _also _do not expect, or want, to hear about anything that may have put Narcissa Malfoy in a bad mood – and if she was being referred to as You-Know-Who, there was obviously something wrong – that and the fact that numerous parents' jobs, and thus, students' lifestyles, were in danger.

And so – you get it.

"Okay, okay! I was talking about Hermione Granger, all right?"

"Wh–_what_?!" Draco spluttered. "He's lying! He's–"

The freezing stopped; people immediately started talking again.

"The Gryffindor bossyboots?"

"Yeah, _right_, Blaise."

"Giiiiiit."

"Always such a _joker_, that Zabini."

The pair froze, slightly afraid of moving. But when the predator that was the Slytherin house seemed to have resumed its meal, they looked at each other in silence. "Well," Blaise started again.

"Outside. Now." Draco stood up, glaring at his friend.

"All right, all right," he said, holding his hands up in mock defeat, "but let me bring this pastry with me."

"No," Draco snapped.

"It's very good – I'll share it with you. My mother made it."

"… fine," he said, then tried to regain his authority, "but, outside. Now!"

Once they were out of earshot of the average Slytherin (or Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and on the odd occasion, Hufflepuff), Draco faced Blaise with an annoyed look. "What in Merlin's name made you want to pull that stunt in there?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh, come on, mate. This is the first time you're ever spied on a–"

"I was _not_ spying on her!"

"–right. Anyway, the first time you've ever spied on a girl, Draco!"

"I wasn't–nevermind."

"You know what this means?!"

"Maybe – give me a moment to think about this – I _wasn't_ spying on her, perhaps?"

"It means you're a _man_!" Blaise declared dramatically, raising his arms into the air.

"Now that's just stupid."

"Right. Sorry, mate. But really, why were you sp–"

"Can we please agree that I wasn't spying?" Blaise tried to answer, but Draco cut him off, "Always _knew_ you were an understanding chap, Blaise. I don't have any 'feelings' for Granger, nor do I fancy or 'like' her. I li–" here Blaise tried to interrupt once again "–_bloody_ hell! As a friend, all right? And I hate Weasel's guts, so obviously if I happened to see them, I would be very mildly interested in what was going on – because I want Weasel to fail–" and again "–_because,_ I hate his guts. Understand?"

"Okay… so why were you spying on her again?"

"_Are you sodding deaf?_" he hissed, dangerously low, hand poised to draw his wand.

Blaise seemed to realise that he'd had enough. "Joking! I was _joking_!" Though he still ignored most of what Draco had said. "So, Hermione Granger," he paused, as if testing out the name, "a friend, eh?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, git. We stay across from each other. I sometimes have to do my homework with her. And… she's bloody smart. Besides, we've got that Monopoly thing together," Draco said all this in a very offhand manner, not really thinking about what he was saying.

"Hmm…" Blaise started, as if he was thinking. "I'll talk to you about her later, don't worry," he continued, "but I have to ask about the Monopy–thing. Will I be not-attending?"

"You just asked me yesterday!" said Draco, protesting.

"Calm down. You have four more days to complete your task!" he declared dramatically.

Draco fought the urge to say '_duh_'. "I wonder why such an _odd_ number," he said dryly.

"Oh – well, it's because the lesson's on Friday and today's Mon–"

"I was _joking_, you idiot."

"I knew that," he lied. "Anyway, back to the topic of Granger–"

"It's only around half a minute 'later'."

"It's still 'later', don't interrupt me–"

"I'll interrupt you whenever I want," Draco interrupted childishly.

The other boy rolled his eyes. "_Back_ to the topic of Granger."

"I don't fancy her, all right? She just happens to be a level above hatred, and he just happens to be a level below, well, hatred. Would you like Pansy going out with Potty?"

"What? No! He's–he's _Potter_," Blaise surpressed a shudder.

"So you like Pansy?"

"I never said… ahh."

Draco raised a carefully calculated eyebrow.

"_Ahh_."

"Any questions?"

"Ahhh. I'll get you someday."

Draco smirked.

"No smirking at fellow housemates," Blaise grumbled.

"Since when?"

"Since I realised how truly annoying it is."

Lesson #1: While a Smirker is Smirking, it is unwise to tell said Smirker that the Smirk in particular is annoying. This will cause the Smirker to Smirk further, thus prolonging the action of Smirking.

Pansy took exactly that moment to walk up to them, smiling at Draco in greeting. He stared at her incredulously. "So, what does he say, Blaise?"

"He says nothing, Panse. But… _I _wasn't caught spy–"

Lesson #2: Shoes are of little protection if the Stepper wishes to Step on the Stepee's foot, hard.

**o**

"Ge' out yer Nitwickles!"

There was a flurry of preparation.

"Ready?"

A few stragglers hurried to finish, then nodded.

"Ge' set!"

Hermione stared determinedly at the finish line.

"_Go!_"

As unofficial and self-declared Nitwickle Trainer Extraordinaire, Hermione had a reputation to prove and uphold.

She fixed her brown Nitwickle (whose colour Ron resembled _something_, though no one but Hermione would get the chance to have heard it, since he was suddenly conveniently shut up, while the pages of Hermione's rather thick textbook settled, as if they had been buffeted gently by the wind…) with a fiery gaze, which intensified when she saw out of the corner of her eye that Susan Bone's creature appeared to be fitter than her own. That would _not_ do.

The immediate area around Hagrid's hut had been turned into a makeshift racetrack, the circuit going in a haphazard circle – which, Harry pointed out, wasn't actually that bad considering it was Hagrid who had drawn it – that the half-giant seemed particularly proud of.

"Yer see the way the startin' lines're different? Tha' means tha' the ones on the outer lane don' have ter run further, see," he'd explained, having somehow managed to draw a diagram of it from a birds' eye point of view.

He had labelled _everything_, including lanes 'one' to 'five' – as well as a very ambiguous lane 'tree' – his house, the entrance to his house, the windows of his house, and a pumpkin that looked a lot like a flower.

Someone pointed out a small indent in the otherwise rough circle.

"Ah, that was Fang. Was havin' a nap, the lazy beast!" he roared out, laughing. Harry, Hermione and Ron felt obligated to join in. No one else did – they flinched at the volume instead.

Either way, Hagrid had miraculously managed to get all the houses to participate, and there was even mention of a somewhat hazy inter-house competition involving mysterious prizes. The suggestion of rewards and bragging rights in one's house was very attractive, and even the Slytherins – who looked at the furry, ugly-but-cute creatures with the same amount of contempt they gave less fortunate people – had been coaxed into choosing and training Nitwickles to represent their house.

Hagrid allowed each house to choose five Nitwickles, giving each Nitwickle at least two trainers. "Gotta show 'em enough affection," he'd explained.

Hermione was practically single-handedly raising the Gryffindor team.

The Nitwickles that Hagrid had bred were around the size of a Quaffle, and resembled Puffskeins and Pygmy Puffs very closely – with the exception of a pair of tiny wings. Their wings were useless for flying, but because of their unique placement on the Nitwickle's lower back, they could be used to propel the creatures forward.

The baby Nitwickles frequently had problems with trying to turn, because of their wings beating too fast and their legs not being able to angle themselves properly. Hermione had, of course, thought of a solution for her own Nitwickle. She made a simple harness that wrapped around the Nitwickle's wings out of toothpicks and string, and slowed them down. Ron had called it stupid. Harry had said it was "not really gonna work…". And Malfoy had said that _she_ was stupid.

The small Nitwickle got frustrated at itself often for being so much slower than its siblings, but soon learnt how to control itself, and when Hermione removed the harness, it won every training race after that.

Until now.

Nitwickle races are very strange. They don't like sound, and when they hear too much of it, they have a tendency to stop what they're doing and sleep to block it out. As a result, the crowd stays silent, and all the energy used normally for cheering is translated into activities such as the biting of nails and the tearing out of hair. Nitwickle races are very strange indeed.

Hermione glared at the offending creature that _dared _to overtake her own, but couldn't say anything. Susan Bones and the rest of the Hufflepuffs clearly thought they had already won, but Hermione didn't blame them. Their Nitwickle was almost ten metres ahead of her own. A long distance if you're around the size of a soccer ball. She gritted her teeth, hoping for a miracle.

Merlin decided to give her a scream of pain coming from behind Hagrid's hut.

Everyone's head whipped around instinctively, but when no more screams came and nothing could be seen, their attention returned to the race in progress. The Hufflepuff Nitwickle had shrieked, jumped up, rolled it's legs in, and was now fast asleep in the middle of the track. Seeing their Nitwickle already asleep and Gryffindor's still warily trudging on, they started shouting and screaming. Soon, both Nitwickles were determinedly asleep. Despite herself, Hermione thought it was a rather good tactic. Considering.

Ron was unclenching and clenching his fists, wanting to shout at them to shut up, but knowing that would irritate the Nitwickles more. The other students stopped their ruckus, and then all of them were waiting, silently, to see what would happen.

A Nitwickle stirred.

It got up slowly.

It started walking – slowly.

Its wings started beating – slowly.

It reached the finish line.

Hufflepuff exploded into cheers.

**o**

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was sitting in a bed, in the hospital wing, a place he despised, trying to convince a bunch of _idiots_ that he had _not_ stuck his head in front of a Blast-Ended Skrewt, and that he had just been taking a normal, non-provocative stroll, when the beast leapt at him and blasted. It missed him, and yes, he was _completely _sure of that, but it _had_ set his hair on fire. _Somehow_.

"Then how did your hair catch fire?" Crabbe asked again.

Draco gritted his teeth. "I. Don't. Know. I was walking past the oaf's hut, and then it attacked me, and for some reason, my hair caught fire." He cringed.

"Well… hair doesn't catch fire very easily…" Pansy said slowly.

"I _know _that," he snapped, annoyed.

"Maybe it was your gel," Blaise suggested.

"That's just stupid," Draco retorted. "What would gel have to do with – oh."

"Flammable?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"_Oh_."

"You can stop now."

"I'm never using gel again," he said, looking paler than usual.

Went he was first admitted into the hospital wing with a bag over his head, he had vehemently refused to look in a mirror. It even _felt_ revolting. Draco had no intention of scarring his mind forever.

His hair had been restored by Madam Pomfrey very quickly, after he pleaded for a good ten minutes and agreed to stay for three days while she repeated that he was _so _very lucky that only his hair got burnt.

Then, once she was done a few hours later (Draco was extremely fussy about having it restored _exactly_ as it had been before) and went to take care of some other students, he had taken the hair-replenishing potion and run out the doors.

His hair felt funny. It was no longer slicked back and out of his eyes the way he liked it. It was exactly the opposite, in fact. It constantly fell into his eyes, the front bit of it being too short to be nicely pushed to the sides, and he was soon tugging and pulling at it in an effort to somehow get it to stay out of his way. Eventually, he gave up, and went to the bathroom.

There, however, the minute he looked at the gel, he saw a flaming pot of fire.

The pot also seemed to be laughing at him.

Draco debated the pros and cons of using it.

_Pros:  
Looks good.  
Keeps hair out of eyes._

_Cons:  
Flammable.  
Flammable.  
Flammable.  
Flammable._

Needless to say, the cons outweighed the pros, and like a perfectly objective individual, he went without. Quidditch practice was not enjoyable as it usually would have been, even with Gryffindor being stuck with the Nitwickles and having to give up their slot.

He got shouted at constantly by Urquhart for getting distracted and tugging at his hair, and then laughed at by _Crabbe_ for almost falling off his broom when he got distracted (by – guess what? – his hair) and nearly ran into one of the goalposts. He grappled frantically at his broom, trying to vault himself back on to it, only to get hit on the leg by a bludger. After a minute of struggling, he yelled out, "Can someone bloody help me?!" only to get sent another bludger and a scolding for being soft.

And to top it all off, when he finally got the snitch after three hours of exhausting and irritating flying, it flew into his face when he let it go, giving him a bruise on his cheek. He hoped Granger had had a worse day.

**o**

Hermione felt crushed, defeated and depressed. Sure, most people would write it off as _just_ a Nitwickle race – but it was the first one she had lost. And Hermione did not take losing well, especially when she had been so clearly winning in the long run.

And of course, just like whenever she was feeling down, Malfoy appeared.

He looked slightly different, though Hermione couldn't put her finger on what, and was much too depressed to bother asking.

"How'd your race with Hufflepuff–" he sniggered, "–go?"

"I lost."

"What, didn't clock in a time thirty seconds better than your previous one?" he asked.

"No – I _lost_."

"You lost to Hufflepuff?!"

"_Yes_, I lost to Hufflepuff!" Hermione snapped.

"Bloody hell, that's horrible, Granger," Draco said. Then he realised how he'd worded it. He wanted to say that he was surprised that she'd lost, since, honestly, her Nitwickle was _wicked_. But no. He'd gone and said that she was horrible at it… oh well.

She snorted. "Like you did any better today."

His heart stopped and his head whipped over to where she was sitting on the couch, reading a book absentmindedly. How did she know about it? As far as he knew, only Hagrid and a first-year had seen what actually happened.

"… I mean, that bruise isn't going to go away very fast without magic. What did you do? Fall off your broom?"

_You nearly gave me a heart attack,_ Draco thought angrily. "I got hit by the Snitch," he said.

Hermione looked up from her book at this. "The _Snitch_?"

"Yes, the Snitch," he snapped.

"And it gave you _that_? I mean, it's _tiny_."

"I'm aware of that," he said icily.

She laughed, "I guess it's because of your complexion. You look like a girl!"

He bristled slightly at this. "At least I didn't lose to Hufflepuff," he said, tugging on his fringe.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Nothing," he said, too quickly.

She looked at him suspiciously.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything. It looks… different."

He tugged at it again instinctively.

"You haven't got gel on!" she declared finally.

"So observant, you are," he said wryly.

She paid no attention to him. "Why?" she asked instead, half to herself. "What could possibly happen that could make Draco Malfoy not gel his hair?"

"I'm not addicted to gel, you know," he said, irritated.

"One could think otherwise. Come on – you can trust me!" she teased.

"_Nothing_ happened," he insisted stubbornly.

Hermione tsked. "You and I both know that's not true."

"If I told you I burnt it, would you believe me?"

"What? No! That's ridiculous!" Hermione said with a laugh.

He had an eyebrow raised at her. One of the I-told-you so varieties.

"_No_," she said, unable to hide a grin, "how?!"

Draco sighed. "A Blast-Ended Skrewt out by that oaf's hut."

Something clicked. "You were that scream!"

"I really don't think so, Granger. I'm quite human."

"No, no – there was a scream during the Nitwickle races!" Then she giggled. "I thought it was a _girl_."

"Can we please stop talking about my feminist qualities?" he asked sarcastically.

"But your hair got set on fire? _Really_?"

"Yes, really! Now may we _please _move on?"

"But _how?_"

"Gel. Is. Flammable," he grumbled.

At this, Hermione started laughing hysterically. "You… your hair… pffft… haha! I wish… I'd seen you! _Haha!_"

Draco scowled. No, this wasn't right. He was supposed to be making her feel miserable about her Hufflepuff loss! "Yes, but you were much too busy losing to Hufflepuff."

"It wasn't even a real race," she said cheerfully, "I'll beat them in the interhouse races. So, anyway, how come Madam Pomfrey hasn't got you locked up in her wing?"

"So… Monopoly!" he said, trying to divert her. "The lesson's coming up soon, let's plan."

"You're so predictable, Malfoy."

"I'm _sorry_ I don't like discussing the loss of my hair within a few seconds."

"Oh, come off it. I'm sure it must've been quite funny."

"Sure, if you weren't the one being stripped of the source of many a date."

* * *

**an; **:D? And thank you for all the reviews, it was fun going through and replying to them. X3


	6. He Wished he was a Gryffindor

**o6. He Wished he was a Gryffindor.**

* * *

In front of the door; outside the classroom; Friday evening.

Draco's _Favourite_ Place.

"I _hate_ this," he grumbled, as they walked towards it, Monopoly sets in his arms after having lost a coin toss – even though he'd bewitched it. How humiliating.

Hermione rolled her eyes. The complaining was always the worst just before the lesson, which was also the time when Malfoy came up with the strangest excuses.

"Too bad," she replied.

"I have a cold," he announced, sniffing loudly.

"Then, as Head Girl, I'd have to keep you from practice tomorrow."

"Fine, then I've got a… headache."

"That's pathetic, Malfoy."

"I'm allergic to Nitwickles."

"This is a _Monopoly_ class."

"Who needs a class for Monopoly, anyway?"

Hermione snorted. "You're not even trying, now."

"My hair's in my eyes."

"So what?" she asked. "Won't be able to function as per usual?"

"No, really, Granger. My hair _is_ in my eyes," he repeated, stopping. "Would you like me to run into a wall and send all these boxes flying?"

"Oh, for –" Hermione said, turning around to face him.

"Get it out," he ordered, attempting to blow puffs of wind upwards.

"There's only a few strands!" she said, exasperated.

"Get it _out_," Draco whined again, trying even harder to blow, his face going a little red.

She could feel a smile coming on, what with his attempts to dissuade the offending strands from his eyes, but just about managed to suppress it.

He puffed again, then gave up. "Hurry up," he said irritably.

"Well, since you asked _so _nicely," she said, walking towards him and taking her wand out, "I'll help you."

"What're you doing?" he asked suspiciously. When she didn't answer, but kept moving towards him with a (scary, evil) grin on her face. Draco attempted to back away from her, which didn't work very well because of the boxes weighing him down.

Hermione was soon right beside him, and smiled as sweetly as she could, while he tried to lean as far as possible away from her, eyeing her wand warily. Then, before you could say "peskipiksi pesternomi", she had pointed her wand at his forehead and cast a small freezing charm on the hair there. Draco made a small noise of protest.

"There!" she declared proudly. "Why don't you just do this all the time?"

"Because it turns out like _this_," he snapped, gesturing angrily with his eyes, "and I can _feel _it sticking up!"

Smirking, she said nothing and resumed their journey.

That is, until she felt something funny, and a lock of her hair was suddenly sticking out, sideways, at a very unnatural angle. She turned around slowly, and sure enough, there was Malfoy, Monopoly on the floor and wand out. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him.

"Yes, that was me," he said cockily.

And found that his tie had a sudden affinity to the ceiling.

Hermione grinned rakishly at him.

Draco scowled back, and her shoelaces stiffened into upright bows.

"That actually looks rather charming," she commented.

"And this?" he asked, making her robes stick out backwards.

"This feels awkward," she said, frowning.

Draco shrugged. "Too bad."

Hermione took that moment to freeze his jumper, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Stop being so childish," he snapped, and her knees could no longer bend – because of her socks.

Making one of the sleeves of his robes stick out in front of him, she mused, "I never knew freezing charms acted this way."

"It's not funny." Draco targeted her skirt.

"Eep!" she squeaked in surprise, but to her relief it just froze in place. Then she turned to glare at Malfoy. "You're so immature."

He smirked, and was already stuck shrugging in what he hoped was a careless manner, and so decided not to try that. Then his hair was frozen in _two_ directions – the front, upwards and the back, forwards.

This continued for another minute or so, until both were unable to find anything else to freeze.

"Well, you'd best cast the reverse spell now," Hermione decided.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know, to _un_-freeze us so we can teach a Monopoly lesson?"

"No, it's quite all right. You do it."

Hermione gestured with her eyes at where he'd frozen her sleeves, with her wand hand inside, and just the tip of it sticking out – though she forgot that her scarf was frozen right in front of her face, and he wouldn't be able to see. "If you've forgotten?" she said sarcastically. "Why can't you do it?"

"Um… my wand hand's a bit tired," he lied.

"Come on, Malfoy. Just do it!"

"All right, all right! Un… freezio… ah?" he paused for a moment. "Oh, what d'you know – it didn't work."

"You don't know it, do you?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm _sorry_ I don't read every single book that won't eat me," he snapped back. "Just tell me what it is."

"Well, you should, uh, try to remember."

He looked at her (scarf) sceptically. "You don't know it, either," Draco said slowly.

"I was sure I knew it!" she whimpered. "But then I tried it out and it didn't work!"

"Oh, brilliant," he snapped.

"Like you're any better," Hermione spat back.

"Any ideas?"

"No," she admitted.

"Let's go find the midget, then."

"Malfoy! Don't be terrible," she scolded, horrified. "Professor Flitwick is a _very_ talented wizard!"

"What does that have to do with his challenges in the vertical area?" snorted Draco.

"It _means_," Hermione said, exasperated, "that you should have more _respect_ for him."

"Oh, yes, I respect him lots – don't worry."

She ignored his sarcasm. "Let's go find him," she said with a small sigh.

They started to walk stiffly, Hermione stretching one leg faaaaar in front of the other, since she couldn't bend her knees, while Draco had to go straight as a stick, his body still stuck in a shrugging position.

**o**

Luckily for them, all the teachers had been called to a meeting by Dumbledore in the Great Hall, which was "top-secret and, as all top-secret things do, requires an over-large hall to take place in". However, they had an issue with being unable to open the doors, until an unfortunate junior walked by. Hermione shuffled forward as fast as her legs would allow her to, and yelled, "HEY!"

The poor girl turned around, and saw what she considered to be a monster. She screamed. Hermione, not being able to see who she was screaming, screamed too. The girl took this to mean that there was _another_ monster behind her, and turned around, and continued screaming.

Though, this time, Hermione supposed that it really _was_ a monster. A Draco with devil-like hair can look quite formidable once you get past the stupid stage.

After a moment, the girl – who, from her tie, Hermione could tell came from Slytherin – seem to realise that it was her head boy she had been screaming at, and proceeded to blush, giggle and laugh ("like a bloody ninny", Hermione muttered under her breath).

True, Malfoy had grown into himself quite well, but most of the girls in their year still remembered the snivelling, rat-faced ferret, and so were quite immune to his looks. The girls in younger, newer years, though…

"Are you done yet?"

"Y–yeah," she stuttered, not really picking up on his tone, and proceeded to smile seductively and bat her eyelashes at him. Hermione found this a very odd sight, considering the fact that he was permanently shrugging, and also being jabbed in the shin by his own shoelace.

"Then stop gawking at me with your frog-eyes and croak for a teacher," he snapped at her, coldly.

Despite the fact that she had just been ogling at Malfoy, Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Malfoy rarely turned his acid tongue fully on her anymore, but she still knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of his jabs.

It was much like being poked by a very sharp stick. And annoying.

Nonetheless, the girl obeyed, and soon, Professor Flitwick had emerged from the double doors, looking slightly red in the face.

The small professor eyed the pair warily, taking in their rather spiky appearance.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I didn't start it," they both said at the same time.

"It was _you_!" Draco said.

Hermione sniffed. "Yes, but I was trying to help you. _You _launched the first offensive attack."

"Offensive? Making a strand of hair stick out is _offensive_?"

"You clearly misunderstood," she clipped.

"No, but I really can't understand how _my_ charm was considered an offensive attack."

"It was the first spell thrown with hostile intentions," Hermione said easily.

"Yes, yes!" Professor Flitwick chimed in. "She's quite right about that, Mr Malfoy."

Draco glared at her, then said, "It doesn't matter. Just get us… fixed."

"All right, but _calm down_ Mr Malfoy. These things can be reversed if you know the right spell…" he said, circling them and peering at the various articles of clothing that had been frozen.

Hermione turned involuntarily, and the part of her coat that had been frozen stiff behind her produced a nice, frozen-coat-coming-into-contact-with-Pureblood sound that rang pleasantly in her ears – coupled with the melodious accompaniment of Swearing Git.

Hermione peeped out from behind her scarf at Professor Flitwick, and, seeing a very disgruntled Malfoy, let out an involuntary giggle.

"What?" he snapped at her, not missing it.

"Nothing," she replied.

Draco scoffed. "You're annoying."

"So are you. And you do realise that we're going to be late, don't you?"

"I don't know, and I certainly don't care."

"All right," Professor Flitwick said loudly, "I know exactly what will do the trick."

"That's great!" Hermione said.

"Yes, but due to your, ah, special circumstances, it may take a little longer than usual." He flicked a string from a frayed sleeve, and watched as it broke off.

"How long? An hour?" she asked, with a dreading feeling.

"_Two_ hours?" Draco asked, with a hopeful feeling.

"N-oo," Flitwick said slowly, "perhaps ten minutes."

"That's not long!" Draco protested.

"Oh, that's not long," Hermione chirped.

They glared at each other, while Professor Flitwick weaved in between them, 'linking' their individual frozen bits together. Finally, he muttered an incantation, and gravity was once again in control. Draco sighed loudly in relief, slumping and leaning against a wall, while Hermione stretched her legs and arms, both in silent agreement that being unfrozen was better than the contrary.

As they were leaving, Professor Flitwick said in a low voice, "Trying to peep under her skirt, were you?"

"Not like you'd know anything," Draco replied nastily.

The small professor was not swayed. "I shan't comment on your choice of lady," he said with a grin, "but I would recommend a different spell." Then he winked, and left.

Draco was going to remain in shock for the next two days.

**o**

After walking briskly (Draco refused to run) back to the classroom and picking up the boxes, they were, once again, in front of the door. Hermione tugged nervously at the sleeves of her robes and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Oh, _great_. It's been an hour! People might think it's been cancelled!" she groaned.

"Don't crush their hopes just yet," Draco said dryly, as she entered the classroom.

It was like dinner, but without the food. The class was clearly separated into four different groups, with a few stragglers here and there between them. They talked; a few were glad that they were getting a free period, others were still sullen since this period hadn't even existed before.

There wasn't immediate silence, but as the students slowly realised that a teacherly presence had entered the room, they quietened down. Hermione was secretly pleased as she saw a few people attempt to tell their friends to shut up, but didn't, embarrassed, as if they didn't want others to know that they actually liked the class.

"We're sorry for being late," Hermione apologised professionally, "but a few things happened while we were on the way here."

"_What_ happened?" Blaise called from the centre of the classroom, and also shooting a glare at Draco, who groaned.

"Well, you see–"

"We had to meet with Professor Dumbledore," Draco cut in. The class hushed.

"Really?" Blaise asked, with an amused expression on his face. "Whatever for?"

"Obviously, for Head Prefect duties," he lied again.

"Without the rest of the Prefects?"

"Without them."

"All right, but I do remember there being mention of a staff meeting. Surely you two aren't _staff_ now, are you?" The smile had turned into a leer.

Draco ground his teeth, knowing he was treading on thin ice. Granger, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on, and was still smiling politely. It was obvious Blaise knew something, but he had no idea _what_. His eyes flicked to Potter and Weasley, who were looking at the ground and shuffling their feet. "It was a very short meeting," he stalled instead.

"_Really?_"

"Yes, rea–"

"Because little Astoria Greengrass scurried over here to tell her lovely older sister just who _exactly _she had seen outside the Great Hall," Blaise interrupted, his voice dangerously low. He was still audible, though, since no one else was daring to speak.

"Astoria Greengrass…?" Hermione asked, confused.

_Oh, shite_, Draco thought.

"And, apparently," Blaise went on vehemently, his voice rising, "you and that filthy Mudblood were playing little games with charms."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he continued to lie, while Hermione stared, frozen in fear, at the class.

"Bollocks, I'm quite sure you do – it feels wonderful being able to be late for your own class while you flirt with our Head Girl, while the rest of us sit here wasting our time, I'm sure you would know," Blaise spat.

"It hasn't been _that_ long," Hermione said in voluntarily, trying to help. Then she realised, fully, what she'd said, and heard Malfoy groan beside her.

_Stupid, bloody Granger_, he ranted in his head. Blaise was a formidable force when he chose to fight, and a pissed Blaise always chose to fight.

Blaise turned on her slowly. "Weeell," he said, "maybe I've been concentrating on the wrong person, hmm?"

"I–"

"Maybe it's the _Mudblood Beaver_ that decided to hold us all up. Having quite a bit of fun exerting your power over us lowly students, aren't you? 'Professor Dumbledore, let's have _that_ as a stupid lesson', 'Professor Dumbledore, why don't we waste their time like _this?_'" he mocked in a high falsetto.

"I–"

"Think your ideas are just the _most_ brilliant, don't you? Little Miss Know-It-All does it again – enriching _and_ fun!"

"I just–"

"'Oh, Professor Dumbledore, they _love _it!"

Draco felt a pang of shame as he considered helping her by getting Blaise to shut up, but then he returned to his senses and dismissed the notion.

… Though for some reason, doing that made him feel even more ashamed than before.

"It's just that much _fun_ to you, isn't it?"

"Please, I–" Hermione couldn't get a word in, and to her embarrassment, she could feel angry tears pricking at her eyes.

The entire room was quiet, as Blaise launched attack after attack on Hermione. She simply stood still, and let it wash over her, while Draco felt the urge to punch him getting stronger and stronger, until, finally–

"Just SHUT UP, bloody arse!" Ron yelled to the centre of the classroom, where a small circle had formed around Blaise.

Everyone's attention went to him, like he had suddenly sprouted another head from his knee. And, for some reason, the shame of not having been able to help her – of being beaten by this _Weasel_ – came rushing in, totally overwhelming his want to stay in the good books of Blaise. But it was too late.

"Got a problem, Weasel?"

"Yeah, in fact, I do have a problem you slimy git. If you've forgotten, this wasn't Hermione's idea."

"How would you know that? Follow her around and watch everything she does, Weasley?" he taunted.

Ron went a deep shade of red, and Harry saw him clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. He put a warning hand on his friend's shoulder, but Ron shrugged him off angrily.

"Going to have a go at me, are you?" called Blaise, amused. "Better prepare those friends of yours quick – you'll be falling in a few seconds."

"I don't remember Dumbledore saying anything about it being Hermione," Harry said in a level voice, "unless, of course, you've been deluding yourself again."

"Me? Delusional? Delusional is _you_, dear Potty. Think you're the amazing Boy-Who-Lived, don't you? It was actually your mother, anyway, who died and got no credit."

"At least my parents would do that for me; you've lost seven dads so far, right? And for money, too," Harry spat.

"Who told you that?" Blaise asked pleasantly. "The Prophet?"

"Everyone knows, Blaise," Draco said tiredly.

"Oh, so now you're a bloody saint, are you? Fighting for the 'good' side and our courageous little Gryffindors, _are_ _you_?" Blaise snapped.

"What's gotten _into_ you?" Draco asked incredulously. "You do realise this isn't suave at all."

"I don't care about you Malfoys and _your_ version of the pureblood rules, but I know that we don't sit around tinkering with sodding Muggle games being taught by a _Mudblood_!"

"She's the smartest witch in our year," hissed Draco.

"So?"

"She's got more qualification to teach this class than you have helping people with their homework."

"You calling me stupid, then?"

"Maybe I am."

Blaise was silent for a moment. "All right," he said defiantly, "but at least I'm not running around with little bints in the hallways."

Hermione bit her tongue, knowing that whatever she said now wouldn't help.

Nevile knew this too, but decided not to be smart. "Shut up, Zabini."

"Ooh, Longbottom coming to the rescue, all heroic, isn't he? 'Shut up, Zabini,'" mocked Blaise, turning to him.

"Shut up, Zabini," Harry repeated quietly, walking to where the other boy was standing. The students parted for him silently.

"What's with all this, dangerous, low 'shut up, Zabini' busine–"

A few of the girls gasped, and many turned away. Blaise was forced to stop talking, since when he turned to face Harry his nose was very forcefully pushed towards his face. Harry rubbed his knuckles on his robes.

"What the _fuck?!_" yelled Blaise angrily, losing his calm composure entirely and covering his bleeding nose with a hand.

Harry was not the strongest person in the world, but when a person is very angry, a person becomes quite a bit stronger, as he'd just proven.

"I didn't _mean_ anything," Blaise was saying, in the same loud tone, completely different from before, "I was just pissed off, all right?!"

"So was I," Harry said, breathing heavily.

"Well, if you've gone and caused any real damage, you'll have hell to pay, Potter."

And for some reason, seeing Potter do what he had wanted to do, seeing Granger gasp, but still smile softly at him, seeing her cheer up because of _Potter_, made Draco feel like punching Blaise all over again.

Sometimes he wished he was a Gryffindor.

_Really?! _his mind asked.

Really.

_**Really?**_

…

NAH.

* * *

**an;** Happy Chinese New Year! I'll get to replying reviews hopefully tomorrow. Busy busy. :3

_ps. any MUSE fans out there? Just curious._


	7. Duties

**o7. Duties

* * *

**

"Blaise, I do think that you need a trip to the hospital wing," announced Draco.

Blaise looked at him with a sheepish grin on his face. "No, I'm sure I can cast a spell for my–"

"I _insist_," Draco said, and many people got the feeling that icy water was being poured down their backs. Blaise felt like it had snowed ten feet and he'd fallen asleep outside.

"… then, I'll be off… alone…" Blaise chirped hopefully (as chirpily as one can, with a broken nose and an angry Slytherin), making for the door.

"It's quite all right," Draco said faux-pleasantly, catching up to him easily.

"No, no, really, I can–" Blaise broke off his squeaking when he saw Draco's… 'grin'. "Um, very nice… teeth… you've got there."

"You may admire them on our way to the hospital wing."

Blaise gulped.

**o**

"It was Pansy's idea," Blaise said quickly, delegating the blame nicely, when he was settled into a bed and Draco looked at least a little calmer.

"What?!" Pansy protested. "_You_ were the one who suggested it when Astoria came."

"Yeah, but _you_ made the idea properly."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did _not_."

"Did _too._"

"Shut up!" Draco finally yelled.

Pansy stuck her tongue out at Blaise, who was suddenly blind to her.

"Anyway, I didn't _mean_ it. You lot got so… so worked up about it. He didn't have to _punch_ me," Blaise complained.

"What the hell? Do you think this is all a _joke?_" stormed Draco, pacing up and down as Madam Pomfrey went to look for some bandages. She could have very easily summoned them, but the old matron knew it was best to be out of sight when wizarding students were angry. After all, getting one's hair turned into teal straw twice is quite enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.

"Well, I thought you would catch on, didn't I?"

"If you're going to act, don't act so sodding… _well._"

Blaise smirked. "It was surprisingly easy to get mad at you."

"You were supposed to defend her, obviously," Pansy said, and this time it was her doing the drawling.

The accusation stung. So, instead, he snapped, "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you fancy her," said Pansy in the same matter-of-fact tone.

Draco gritted his teeth. "I. Do not. Fancy. Granger." (He said this keeping his teeth gritted-ed, which was quite a feat on it's own.)

"Maybe not yet, but it's happening," she said, refusing to believe him.

"What, you know what it feels like to fall for Granger?"Draco said sarcastically.

"Well–"

"_I _know what this is," he suddenly declared.

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. I've stopped being such a git to Granger, and you lot think it's because I fancy her, don't you?" Draco said.

"Exactly!" Blaise chimed obliviously. Pansy had a sudden gut-reflex to slap her forehead. Like the way your knee goes up when you hit it.

"Granger is still a Mudblood, and nothing has changed," he said callously.

"Then why were you doing… doing – what _were_ you doing?"

Draco didn't reply.

"Astoria said that you were… horny?"

"She said _what_?!" Pansy spluttered.

Draco choked.

"I thought – it was a–a – something _innocent_, not… uh–" said Pansy, trying not to imagine Draco attempting to do Granger _mischief_ in the hallways.

"Astoria is going to–"

"– it's bad enough that you fancy her –"

"– it _wasn't_ –"

"Oh, no, wait. She said he had horns," Blaise said off-handedly.

"That makes more sense," Pansy breathed.

"Why?"

"He's too much of a girl to get horny."

"Oh, I'd never thought of that. Absolutely," Blaise agreed enthusiastically.

Draco had been, quite quietly, making his way over to the side of Blaise's bed. A bedside table sat, guess where? On the side of the bed, and on that, sat a glass of water. He picked it up, ignoring Blaise's protests of how he would have to take his medicine dry, and pretended to drink it.

Pretended being the keyword.

"I'm so sorry, Madame Pomfrey," called Draco, "I appear to have slipped."

"What – oh, dear!" the nurse exclaimed, as she hurried out from behind a curtain and was greeted by a rather damp Blaise. "Well, please make sure that you don't slip again, Mr. Malfoy," she said, with just a hint of suspicion.

Plastering the most genuine expression on his face (looking a lot like Peeves, but no one need tell him that), Draco said, "I'll be sure to watch my step next time."

"He _threw _the water at me!"

"Now, now. Don't fight."

"I wasn't –"started Blaise, then he stopped, sighed angrily and flopped back onto the bed. "Bloody unfair," he muttered.

**o**

While Hermione attempted to make her face return to normal, Ron held out a handkerchief to her and decided that why yes, indeed, the wooden tables _do_ actually have a very nice finishing.

"Even though I shouldn't say thank you for punching a student in the face, thanks Ron, Harry," she said, and had somewhat succeeded in her goal of returning to normal.

"'S all right," replied Harry, turning slightly pink. He thought of mentioning that his hand hurt now, but figured that that would taint the current manliness of his position.

"I'm going to go check up on Zabini," she sighed, after a prolonged Moment of Silence.

To his credit, Ron tried to not look so genuinely shocked. "Why?"

"Duties of a Head Girl, and teacher."

When she'd left, Ron turned to Harry with a forlorn look. "Bloody duties. Duties to her mum. Duties to her dad. Duties to her books. Duties to her studies. Duties to the school. Duties to her _cat_. Duties of a student. Duties… duties of being Hermione. She should just off and marry them, shouldn't she?"

"There wouldn't be enough fingers for all the rings," Harry pointed out, rather unnecessarily.

They had missed the death threat hanging on her words.

**o**

"Oh, brilliant. Now the entire room's infected," said Draco, as she poked her head in.

Hermione scowled at him. "Piss off, Malfoy," she said.

"I was _joking_," he drawled. Annoyingly. Infuriatingly. Frustratingly. _Irritatingly._

"I'm here to talk to Zabini," she said in a business-like tone.

"Don't wanna."

"_Excuse _me?"

"I don't want to talk to you," Blaise articulated.

"You had an awful lot to say just now, didn't you?" she snapped.

"Yeah, well, that was just now."

"'That was just now?'" Hermione asked incredulously, "So now it's all fine and dandy?"

"… ye-es."

"No," she said finally, "I _refuse _to be at the end of your petty Slytherin mood swings. Just now, I was too shocked by your bloody _gall _to reply, but now…"

Draco watched as Granger took a deep breath, and knew to duck and cover. He slinked into the shadows, safely out of sight, while the Granger-wrath was unleashed.

"How _dare_ you disrupt the class like that! You bloody inconsiderate piece of _snake's crap_, I'm going to deduct _twenty _points for misconduct and being a _worthless git_ to basically – basically _everyone _and–"

"Twenty points? And what about you, for being late?" Blaise interrupted angrily.

"Like you would've preferred having the lesson for an hour over having free time with your friends!" she shot back. "You think I really _want _to teach – teach _morons_ like you who can't tell a red piece of plastic from a green piece of plastic?! I'd completely prefer it if you weren't in my Monopoly class, but there's nothing _I_ can do about it, so if you've got such an issue with it then ask _Dumbledore_ yourself or you can just bloody well _shut up_."

Blaise's mouth opened and closed.

"Yes, that's a good job," Hermione snorted, and then walked away.

"Draco," Blaise said slowly, "this is all your fault."

* * *

**an;** Yes. This is so short compared to the other chapters - I'm very, annoyingly, glaringly aware of that. It's also incredibly forced. And the last chapter was way too dramatic, wasn't it? Overbearingly so? I can't tell. Honestly. Ugh. Please tell me.

So, I'm just going to give you guys this half-a-chapter for now. Would you prefer if they came in shorter (like these) updates, but more frequently, or the usual ones, but... obviously, less frequently?

And _thank you_ so much for all your reviews! 80 in 6 chapters! That's... I would whistle, but a) I can't, and b) you wouldn't hear it/care. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside and gives me the delusion that I'm popular, which would make me happy, which would make me write faster? Gettit?

/begging.


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